Compulsion pt. 2
Title: Compulsion part 2
Author: Edana ni Emer
Universe: TV
Pairing: Eventually Harry/Bob, but there are some side trips along the way.
Rating: G/PG this part, future parts will be NC-17
Warnings: For this part? Nothing. Future parts: Gore, ick, creepiness factor, dubious psychology, Harry/OCs, and infrequent bad puns.
Word Count: 4000+
Summary: Sometimes you don't know your own mind. Sometimes somebody wants to make sure you don't.
Part one is here.
"Okay, when Optimus Prime said 'Autobots, roll out!', my inner eight-year-old stood up and cheered," Harry said, waving a bite of steak in the air on the end of his fork.
"From what I could tell, your outer thirty-something very nearly did too," Nick said with a grin, tearing a roll in half and slathering it with butter.
"Hey, I loved that show," Harry said, "I used to sneak away to watch it whenever I got the chance." He popped the bite of steak into his mouth, savoring it. Nick's eyes lit appreciatively on his mouth for a moment, then flicked away.
"Sneak away?" he asked with interest.
"I was living with my Uncle Justin by then, and he didn't have a TV, or really approve of them," Harry said, trying to keep his voice neutral. Nick paused for a moment.
"So, which one was your favorite?" he asked, changing the subject neatly. "I always kind of liked Ratchet, myself." He took a bite of his potato. Harry smiled at him gratefully.
"Well, everybody loved Optimus, of course... but I always kinda liked Bluestreak. Or Silverstreak, whichever they wanted to call him."
Nick chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. Harry found his own eyes lingering. "Oh, I remember him now... the motormouth, right?" Harry shook his head at the teasing grin.
"Hey, I resemble that remark!" Harry snorted.
"Oh, I'm sure you're not that bad," Nick replied.
"You can ask Murphy if you want. Some days I think she'd like to shoot me just to shut me up," Harry said with an eye-roll.
"Murphy?"
"Yeah, I do consults for the PD sometimes, as a private investigator. Murphy's generally the one that calls me in. She's a friend, when she can be." Harry shrugged. "It's a rough line of work."
"Sounds fascinating," Nick commented, leaning forward a little.
"Actually, it's more often horrifying than anything," Harry said, making a face. "But this one time...." He laughed, shaking his head. "This one time, Murphy and I were at a bar hunting down this guy that had..." he paused and waved a hand. "Eh, not important. But to set the scene, she's about this tall," he gestured. "And not really..." he gestured again, on the horizontal plane. "So I guess she's not really that intimidating from the back. So we're in the bar, and we're talking to the bartender to see if we can track this guy down, and this utter idiot comes up and tries to hit on her. Drunk as hell, obviously thinking he's God's gift to the world."
"I know the type," Nick said dryly. "Gay, straight... doesn't matter. A jerk's a jerk."
Harry nodded. "So Murphy gives him the polite brush off, and turns back to the bartender. We're not getting anything out of him, so she's getting a little cranky, and this guy won't leave her alone. I mean, I've never seen a guy get shot down so hard and not wind up in a corner crying into his beer."
Nick laughed.
"By this point, I'm wishing I was anywhere else, because if I say something she'll get pissed off at me for being a chauvanistic ass and trying to protect her. If I don't, I'm not backing her up," Harry continued with a roll of his eyes. "So I'm trying to decide the lesser of two evils, knowing that I'm going to be in trouble no matter what I do, when he decides to grab her ass and call her 'baby'."
"Oh, no," Nick moaned with a snicker.
"Yeah," Harry snorted. He took a long drink. "So she clocked him one."
"Just like that?"
"Yup. I think he was out cold before he hit the ground. She turns back to start questioning the bartender again, cool as you please, and I'm left gawping like an idiot. I mean, what do you do in a situation like that? What could you possibly say?"
Nick snickered into his drink. "Yeah, sometimes you just can't find an answer. This one kid, a sophomore I think, handed me an essay last year on how Oscar Wilde couldn't possibly be gay." Harry, caught in the middle of a drink, had to bring one hand up to keep himself from doing a spit-take all over the table. "Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction. I mean, the man admitted it in his own papers! All but bragged about it!" Nick waved his hands, eloquently speaking of his frustration and amusement without words. "The justifications that kid used, and the re-definition of words he had to perform, and the astounding mutations of reason and sense..." He seemed to be working himself up into a grand oration.
Harry folded his arms on the table and leaned closer to watch, grinning and vastly entertained. "I mean, it was a brilliantly done paper, overall." Nick continued. "He did his research, picked apart every bit of information he could get, and..." he shook his head, laughing. "Brutally murdered logic in cold blood. The high school student. In the library. With the candlestick."
"I did that a few times," Harry said, chuckling. "No, really," he protested at Nick's look. "I had a private tutor, and I used to come up with the most horrible theories for my papers, on purpose even, just to get the look on his face that you've got right now," he grinned, pointing at the expression in question. "He always made me do them over again, but for some classes that was the most fun I got out of them."
"Did he ever figure it out?" Nick asked, wiping up the last bit of steak-juice with the final bite of his roll.
Harry snorted. "I don't think so. If he had, he'd still be lecturing me about it to this day."
"You're still in touch, then?"
"All the time," Harry nodded, smiling. "I consider Bob pretty much the only family I've got left." Nick smiled at him sympathetically and covered one of Harry's hands with his own. Harry ducked his head and smiled.
"So you think you'll want dessert?" Nick asked. Harry groaned.
"I just had a steak that hung over the edges of the plate, a baked potato the size of my head, enough salad for an army of rabbits to live off of for a year, and more rolls than it would have taken to sink the Titanic, and you're asking me if I want dessert?" He rested a hand over his stomach and sighed theatrically. "I'm going to need at least half an hour."
"Oh, you're one of those," Nick said with a grin. "Well in deference to your metabolism, how about we walk this off for a bit, then maybe stop and get some ice cream? It's a good night for it."
"That sounds good," Harry nodded, and Nick signaled their waiter for the check. Harry reflexively tried to grab it when it came, but Nick teasingly slapped the back of his hand.
"I told you, my treat," he chided.
"Sorry, sorry," Harry said, his hands up in surrender. "Habit."
"Are you sure you have no experience with men?" Nick asked as he tucked his card into the folder and scribbled on the receipt. "Because you're an awfully good date." He propped it up on the edge of the table for the waiter to take care of. Harry started to shake his head, then hesitated.
"Well..." he started.
"A-hah! I knew it," Nick grinned.
"Settle down," Harry said with a wave of one hand. "It was like twenty years ago. Twenty-two, something like that." He stared off into the middle distance, forehead furrowed in thought. "I was just a kid, and I had a crush. Some kid I'd run into in town a few times. Steven, I think his name was."
"So what happened?" Nick asked. "Did you ever say anything to him?"
Harry shook his head vaguely. "I... that's what I've been trying to... I don't remember." He looked up and met Nick's eyes, confusion in his own. "Isn't that weird?"
Nick frowned. "That is pretty strange. It was a long time ago, though. And... this is going to sound like a dumb question, and I'm certainly not a doctor, but have you had any... I don't know, head injuries or anything?"
Harry stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Uh, you could say that. I'm a P.I.," he shrugged. "Sometimes I end up sticking my nose into things people would rather I didn't. I've gotten clobbered a few times." Or more than a few, he had to admit to himself.
"Sounds like a dangerous line of work," Nick said with a frown, getting his receipt and tucking it into his wallet. "Ready?" Harry nodded and stood, stepping past Nick to lead the way out. Nick put a hand briefly on the back of his shoulder. Harry turned to smile, Nick's hand sparking an unaccustomed warmth in his chest.
"It can be," Harry replied. "But the worst messes I've ever gotten into have had nothing to do with the job." He shrugged. "I guess I just sort of draw trouble."
Nick looked at him dubiously. Harry tried not to look sheepish.
***
"So what kind are you getting?" Harry asked, leaning up against the glass counter and peering down at the vats of ice cream.
"Mm, the cherries jubilee sounds good. Probably a cone. You?"
"Cookies and cream, I think. With the Oreo bits? That's one of my favorites." He completely missed the sidelong look Nick sent him as the guy behind the counter started scooping.
"Sounds good. And if I even see you thinking about reaching for your wallet, I'll have to do something drastic," Nick warned.
"Who, me?" Harry asked cheerfully. "Would I do something like that after you smacked me one over the check for dinner?"
"In a heartbeat, if you thought you could get away with it," Nick commented with a smile.
"Well, okay. You got me," Harry confessed, taking his cone.
"Oh, if only," Nick teased, waggling his eyebrows. Harry snorted.
"Don't think I'm that easy. Besides, a week from now and you'd be looking for the receipt," he joked absently, examining his ice cream for the best angle of attack.
"You keep making comments like that." Nick said thoughtfully. "Whoever you've been dating? I think you're better off without them." He nibbled a bit off the top of his own ice cream, carefully not looking at Harry, though he caught the moment of hesitation out of the corner of his eye.
"...maybe so," Harry said quietly, before attacking his cone again.
They walked for a while in companionable silence, trying to keep ahead of the melting ice cream. Harry missed the repeated glances Nick kept shooting him.
"Okay," Nick finally burst out. "There is no way you can be not doing that on purpose."
"Mmmf?" Harry asked, using his finger to catch a particularly adventurous drip and licking it off. He'd somehow managed to get a smear of ice cream on the end of his nose without apparently realizing it. Nick slumped.
"You are. I can't believe--" he laughed.
"What?" Harry asked blankly.
"I guess you really are used to dating only women," Nick said, shaking his head. "Think about what you were just doing to that ice cream cone, Harry." He could tell when Harry got it. His eyes went wide, and he flushed redder than he had when he'd come down the stairs earlier that evening.
"Uh, sorry..." he stuttered.
"No big deal," Nick said easily. "Just, have a little mercy, will you?" he pleaded playfully with a wink. Harry blushed even more deeply and examined his cone intently, with a vaguely perplexed expression, apparently trying to figure out how one ate an ice cream cone in a non-suggestive manner. Nick was tempted to clue him in on how difficult that would be with a mouth like his, but decided he'd embarrassed the poor guy enough for one evening. "Hey," he said, nudging Harry with his shoulder. "Don't let me put you off your ice cream. I can look away, you know."
Harry grinned and ducked his head in that way that Nick was coming to like entirely too much, and kept eating. Nick ostentatiously directed his gaze elsewhere, and heard Harry snicker. Pleased, he started to work on his own cone again. Even if this was the only date Harry ever had with a man, at least Nick had made sure he'd had fun.
***
"So, you want to come in?" Harry asked as they approached his door. "I don't exactly have a coffee pot, but I make a mean cup of instant."
"Oh, I want to," Nick answered. "But I'd probably better not, all things considered," he said with some regret. Harry nodded in understanding.
"You know, I think this is the best time I've had on a date in years," he said, leaning up against the wall by the window that had his name on it.
"Well, you do know what makes it a date, and not just a couple of friends hanging out, don't you?" Nick asked, bracing his hand on the window.
"You mean besides the flirting?" Harry asked, amused.
"Yup. I go out with friends I flirt with all the time. Doesn't make it a date." Nick smiled.
"So what makes it a date, then?" Harry asked, shifting his weight a little. It moved him a little bit closer. Nick seemed to take that as permission and leaned in, smiling.
It wasn't much of a kiss, really. Dry and close-mouthed, little more than a peck. But Nick's lips were warm and soft, and while it felt different than kissing a woman, it wasn't a bad different. He didn't have to bend down so far, for one. Nick smelled nice, and the tiny hint of stubble was actually kind of neat. Broken from his thoughts when Nick pulled away, Harry blinked a few times, and smiled. Nick smiled back, looking pleased. This time it was Harry that leaned in, closing his eyes.
***
Bob watched the movement of the shadows against the window with a tight frown. He really should have found a way to keep Harry home until they'd figured out what was going on. It just seemed so strange that Harry wasn't curious, wasn't questioning, especially such a drastic change in his typical behavior. Was something preventing him from thinking about it? Harry was capable of occasional bouts of massive denial, but this seemed a bit excessive. And now they were-- oh, really. Right out there in the street?
But he couldn't look away as their shadows separated, and then Harry leaned back in. It was a long moment before they parted again; it probably felt longer than it really was.
The bell jingled, and he stepped farther back into the shadows so as to be less visible from the door, in case Harry's 'date' was coming in as well. But Harry was closing the door behind him, and the other man's shadow was moving away outside. He opened his mouth to say something scathing, but the look on Harry's face gave him pause. He was a bit flushed, his hair slightly rumpled, and he was grinning that wide-open happy smile that Bob got to see so rarely. It took up his whole face, made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and told the entire world just how much he was loving life at the moment. As terrible as his own mood was, and as worried as he was for Harry... he couldn't quite bring himself to ruin it.
"Did everything go well?" he made himself ask. Harry twitched violently and spun to face him.
"Shit, Bob! Don't scare me like that," he yelped. He took a deep breath and shook his head. "Yeah, everything went fine. I had a better time than I think I've had on a date in the last ten years." He smiled a little, his eyes gleaming happily.
"Well, I'm... glad you had a good time." It wasn't even a lie. Working with Harry was infinitely easier when he was in a good mood. And now Harry was eyeing him with suspicion.
"That's a hell of a turnaround," he said cautiously. "A few hours ago I think you'd have locked me in if you could have."
"I still can't say I'm entirely sanguine about the situation," Bob admitted. "And if one of your clients came in speaking of a drastic change in behavior like this, you'd be the first to find it odd and investigate. But you're a grown man. I can't make you look into it."
Harry slumped onto the couch with a sigh, leaning his head back to rest against the cushions. "And I was having such a good evening," he said to no-one in particular. Bob felt a momentary pang of regret, but shooed it away. "All right, what have you found?"
"Well, whatever happened must have done so when you failed to remove the curse from that gaudy bit of jewelry in the lab," Bob began. "While you botched the circle--and you really do need to work on your calligraphy--unless you hideously overpowered the spell it shouldn't have had much of a physical effect on you at all, much less knocked you down. The answering machine was likely a lost cause either way really, but getting hit with a curse-removal shouldn't have knocked you for a loop." Bob noticed with relief that Harry was frowning thoughtfully. He'd finally managed to get his brain engaged. Now they could get to the bottom of this.
"That's true," Harry mused. "And I didn't put all that much power into it. You're always complaining that I use brute force where subtlety is called for," he noted with a wry smile, rolling his head along the back of the couch to look in Bob's direction, "So I thought I'd give your way a shot. Didn't work out so well."
"Hm, well if you'd formed the glyph for sealing the circle properly, it likely would have," Bob retorted. Harry snorted and made a 'you win' sort of gesture.
"I'll try it again in the morning, and you can look over my work first. I just... y'know." He shrugged. "Didn't want you in the room when I was trying to un-curse something. I wasn't sure what it'd do to you if I screwed up."
Bob blinked. The thought had never occurred to him. Now that Harry had mentioned it, it wasn't an unfounded concern. "While I do thank you for your consideration, we've moved rather off the point," he said, crossing his arms. "Which is your out-of-character behavior."
"Is it really that far out of character?" Harry asked, puzzled. "'Cause it doesn't feel like I'm acting all that different, except who I'm doing it with."
Bob had to stop and think on that for a moment. His immediate reaction was to say 'Yes, of course,' but was it true? "You've been a great deal more... cavalier about this than I might expect. Yesterday, you'd never have accepted a date with a man, nor kissed him on the doorstep. Yet today you seem to find it not only acceptable but commonplace."
"Wait, you were watching?" Harry interjected.
"I was waiting for you to come home," Bob said, rather stiffly. "I was concerned. You only met the man today, and there's every possibility that he could be involved in this. What do you know about him?" Harry smiled a little. Bob fought down a bristle by will alone.
"He teaches high-school English Lit, has two sisters older than him, his mother's still alive," Harry paused. "And his Name is Nicholas William Jerrin." He pronounced it very precisely.
"He gave you his Name?" Bob blinked in shock.
"Yeah." Harry sighed. "He had no idea what he was doing, and I think the only reason he was even able to is just because he's so precise when he talks. Probably because of the classes he teaches."
"Are you sure it was real?" Bob queried. Harry shot him a look. "Right, right. Sorry. Wait, you didn't give him yours, did you?"
"Do I look like an idiot? Don't answer that," he added when Bob began to speak. "But with that thrown in, you can bet he's probably not involved in whatever's going on. If he had more magic than your average cup of coffee, he'd have known better."
"True," Bob acknowledged reluctantly. "Then I suppose that leaves us back at square one, attempting to deduce the origins of your sudden 'noticing'," he cocked an eyebrow at Harry, who sheepishly nodded. "Thirty-six years of staunch heterosexuality aren't overthrown so easily."
"...you might be overstating the case a little, there." Harry said sheepishly. "I mean, every teenager has thoughts like those. They just kinda... went away."
Bob frowned. "Went away?"
Harry hauled himself to his feet and began to pace, chewing on one thumb. "Yeah, that's something that came up earlier when I was talking to Nick. Did I ever mention a kid named Steven, or Steve? I'd have been about fourteen or fifteen, maybe."
Bob bit his lower lip in thought. "No, the name doesn't sound familiar. Have you remembered something?" Harry shook his head, clearly frustrated.
"Almost. I remember that I had a friend named Steven, and... I must have spent time with him, and I think I had some kind of crush, but I can't quite make it fit together." His brow furrowed. "After a while he just wasn't around anymore, I guess. I don't remember a fight or anything, anyway. And then I started noticing girls, so it didn't really seem as important."
"Wait," Bob interjected. "And then you started noticing girls? After you weren't around this Steven much anymore?"
"Well, at all as far as I can tell. I mean, he kinda fades out around the same time, or me knowing him does. Something like that." From the look on Harry's face, he was rapidly giving himself a headache trying to remember. Bob's mind worked frantically. Harry's first male crush coming to an abrupt and vague end, only after which he found himself attracted to women. Harry completely lacking any detailed memories of that individual, when he'd trained Harry in mnemonic techniques himself. Wizards weren't over-prone to forgetfulness anyway.
"A moment, Harry. Let me see something..." Harry paused to look at him inquisitively, and Bob stepped close to slide his hand into Harry's chest. It confirmed his fears, now that he knew what to look for, and he stepped back.
"I... had begun to suspect as much," he said reluctantly. "There was indeed a difference, that I detected earlier. Not a new spell, though." He sorely wished he could reach out to Harry, lessen the impact a bit. "When your spell earlier backfired, it seems to have removed an older one."
"Wait, what?" Harry demanded. "A spell? What kind of... who would have...?" His mouth tensed and his eyes squeezed shut as though he were in pain. "Justin."
"It seems most likely," Bob said quietly. "He never mentioned it to me, but there were many things he chose not to share with a servant."
"But why?" Harry demanded, with all the hurt of a small child in his voice. Bob ached for him.
"I imagine he believed that such... proclivities... would have threatened his dynastic ambitions. He was rather invested in making sure you married well."
"So he sees me what, showing signs of a crush, maybe flirting a little at the most, and just decides to change it?" Harry shook his head, one hand scrubbing harshly at his face. "Just like that. I guess it's easy, when you don't give a damn." He spun and stalked a few steps away, his head hanging low while he breathed deeply, trying to maintain control.
"I wish there were something I could say, Harry," Bob said simply. It was true. At this moment he'd have given up a chance at freedom if he could just make Harry stop hurting.
"How much of it was real, Bob? Tara, Heather, Patricia, Bianca... how much of what I felt was real?" Harry's voice was quiet and hoarse. He sounded like he was fighting back tears.
"At the time? All of it." Bob answered gently. "No spell can take that away from you. Whether you would feel the same things without it, only time can tell."
"Christ," Harry muttered, running one hand through his hair. "I can't think about this right now," he said, unthinkingly echoing his words of that afternoon. Bob sought a distraction that would keep Harry around so Bob could keep an eye on him.
"Harry, you look like you're getting a headache," he said, trying to keep his voice unobtrusive. "We've still got a bit of the painkilling potion left, though you should probably make some more. There are a few other things we're also running a bit low on, if you're feeling up to it."
"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," Harry muttered, nodding absently. He stopped in the kitchen to grab the bottle of milk, then ducked into the lab. It was probably illustrative of his mood that he closed and barred the door behind him; he rarely bothered when he was alone. Swigging down the last of the headache draught, he grimaced and washed it down with a gulp of milk straight out of the jug. Bob bit back his reflexive comment. It wasn't like he had to worry about getting any milk from that bottle.
"I don't suppose you know any variants of this potion that don't taste like liquid chalk?" he groused.
"I'm afraid not," Bob said apologetically. "I don't think there are any medicinal potions out there that aren't nearly worse than what they're intended to cure. It's simply the nature of things."
Harry sighed and lit the flame of his tiny stove with a gesture, pouring a healthy amount of milk into a pot and setting it over the heat. While it warmed, he started assembling the rest of the ingredients. He'd made this one so many times he could probably do it in his sleep; he was pretty sure on one occasion that he had.
When that potion was finished and bottled, he moved on to a couple of different tracking potions, one to stop wounds from bleeding, one that boosted strength temporarily--though at a cost--and to push himself finished up with a type of disguise potion he hadn't tried before. Bob was with him, every step of the way. Even when he felt his eyes begin to droop closed.
"Harry? Harry!" Bob's insistent voice prodded him out of his half-doze. He shook his head and forced his eyes open to see Bob watching him with concern.
"I'm okay," he reassured Bob, rubbing his eyes. "Lemme just get this finished." He extinguished the flame and bottled the potion, the extra effort needed to keep his hands steady waking him up a little.
"Harry, you're exhausted. It's nearly dawn." Bob's voice, gentle and soothing, nudged him out of the lab and upstairs through the gray pre-dawn light to bed. Stripping to his boxers and t-shirt, he dragged the heavy comforter from the foot of the bed and curled up under it, pulling it over his head despite it being too warm for the weather. He really wanted something between him and the outside world right now.
"Sleep well, Harry," was the last thing he heard before sinking gratefully into oblivion.
Author: Edana ni Emer
Universe: TV
Pairing: Eventually Harry/Bob, but there are some side trips along the way.
Rating: G/PG this part, future parts will be NC-17
Warnings: For this part? Nothing. Future parts: Gore, ick, creepiness factor, dubious psychology, Harry/OCs, and infrequent bad puns.
Word Count: 4000+
Summary: Sometimes you don't know your own mind. Sometimes somebody wants to make sure you don't.
Part one is here.
"Okay, when Optimus Prime said 'Autobots, roll out!', my inner eight-year-old stood up and cheered," Harry said, waving a bite of steak in the air on the end of his fork.
"From what I could tell, your outer thirty-something very nearly did too," Nick said with a grin, tearing a roll in half and slathering it with butter.
"Hey, I loved that show," Harry said, "I used to sneak away to watch it whenever I got the chance." He popped the bite of steak into his mouth, savoring it. Nick's eyes lit appreciatively on his mouth for a moment, then flicked away.
"Sneak away?" he asked with interest.
"I was living with my Uncle Justin by then, and he didn't have a TV, or really approve of them," Harry said, trying to keep his voice neutral. Nick paused for a moment.
"So, which one was your favorite?" he asked, changing the subject neatly. "I always kind of liked Ratchet, myself." He took a bite of his potato. Harry smiled at him gratefully.
"Well, everybody loved Optimus, of course... but I always kinda liked Bluestreak. Or Silverstreak, whichever they wanted to call him."
Nick chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. Harry found his own eyes lingering. "Oh, I remember him now... the motormouth, right?" Harry shook his head at the teasing grin.
"Hey, I resemble that remark!" Harry snorted.
"Oh, I'm sure you're not that bad," Nick replied.
"You can ask Murphy if you want. Some days I think she'd like to shoot me just to shut me up," Harry said with an eye-roll.
"Murphy?"
"Yeah, I do consults for the PD sometimes, as a private investigator. Murphy's generally the one that calls me in. She's a friend, when she can be." Harry shrugged. "It's a rough line of work."
"Sounds fascinating," Nick commented, leaning forward a little.
"Actually, it's more often horrifying than anything," Harry said, making a face. "But this one time...." He laughed, shaking his head. "This one time, Murphy and I were at a bar hunting down this guy that had..." he paused and waved a hand. "Eh, not important. But to set the scene, she's about this tall," he gestured. "And not really..." he gestured again, on the horizontal plane. "So I guess she's not really that intimidating from the back. So we're in the bar, and we're talking to the bartender to see if we can track this guy down, and this utter idiot comes up and tries to hit on her. Drunk as hell, obviously thinking he's God's gift to the world."
"I know the type," Nick said dryly. "Gay, straight... doesn't matter. A jerk's a jerk."
Harry nodded. "So Murphy gives him the polite brush off, and turns back to the bartender. We're not getting anything out of him, so she's getting a little cranky, and this guy won't leave her alone. I mean, I've never seen a guy get shot down so hard and not wind up in a corner crying into his beer."
Nick laughed.
"By this point, I'm wishing I was anywhere else, because if I say something she'll get pissed off at me for being a chauvanistic ass and trying to protect her. If I don't, I'm not backing her up," Harry continued with a roll of his eyes. "So I'm trying to decide the lesser of two evils, knowing that I'm going to be in trouble no matter what I do, when he decides to grab her ass and call her 'baby'."
"Oh, no," Nick moaned with a snicker.
"Yeah," Harry snorted. He took a long drink. "So she clocked him one."
"Just like that?"
"Yup. I think he was out cold before he hit the ground. She turns back to start questioning the bartender again, cool as you please, and I'm left gawping like an idiot. I mean, what do you do in a situation like that? What could you possibly say?"
Nick snickered into his drink. "Yeah, sometimes you just can't find an answer. This one kid, a sophomore I think, handed me an essay last year on how Oscar Wilde couldn't possibly be gay." Harry, caught in the middle of a drink, had to bring one hand up to keep himself from doing a spit-take all over the table. "Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction. I mean, the man admitted it in his own papers! All but bragged about it!" Nick waved his hands, eloquently speaking of his frustration and amusement without words. "The justifications that kid used, and the re-definition of words he had to perform, and the astounding mutations of reason and sense..." He seemed to be working himself up into a grand oration.
Harry folded his arms on the table and leaned closer to watch, grinning and vastly entertained. "I mean, it was a brilliantly done paper, overall." Nick continued. "He did his research, picked apart every bit of information he could get, and..." he shook his head, laughing. "Brutally murdered logic in cold blood. The high school student. In the library. With the candlestick."
"I did that a few times," Harry said, chuckling. "No, really," he protested at Nick's look. "I had a private tutor, and I used to come up with the most horrible theories for my papers, on purpose even, just to get the look on his face that you've got right now," he grinned, pointing at the expression in question. "He always made me do them over again, but for some classes that was the most fun I got out of them."
"Did he ever figure it out?" Nick asked, wiping up the last bit of steak-juice with the final bite of his roll.
Harry snorted. "I don't think so. If he had, he'd still be lecturing me about it to this day."
"You're still in touch, then?"
"All the time," Harry nodded, smiling. "I consider Bob pretty much the only family I've got left." Nick smiled at him sympathetically and covered one of Harry's hands with his own. Harry ducked his head and smiled.
"So you think you'll want dessert?" Nick asked. Harry groaned.
"I just had a steak that hung over the edges of the plate, a baked potato the size of my head, enough salad for an army of rabbits to live off of for a year, and more rolls than it would have taken to sink the Titanic, and you're asking me if I want dessert?" He rested a hand over his stomach and sighed theatrically. "I'm going to need at least half an hour."
"Oh, you're one of those," Nick said with a grin. "Well in deference to your metabolism, how about we walk this off for a bit, then maybe stop and get some ice cream? It's a good night for it."
"That sounds good," Harry nodded, and Nick signaled their waiter for the check. Harry reflexively tried to grab it when it came, but Nick teasingly slapped the back of his hand.
"I told you, my treat," he chided.
"Sorry, sorry," Harry said, his hands up in surrender. "Habit."
"Are you sure you have no experience with men?" Nick asked as he tucked his card into the folder and scribbled on the receipt. "Because you're an awfully good date." He propped it up on the edge of the table for the waiter to take care of. Harry started to shake his head, then hesitated.
"Well..." he started.
"A-hah! I knew it," Nick grinned.
"Settle down," Harry said with a wave of one hand. "It was like twenty years ago. Twenty-two, something like that." He stared off into the middle distance, forehead furrowed in thought. "I was just a kid, and I had a crush. Some kid I'd run into in town a few times. Steven, I think his name was."
"So what happened?" Nick asked. "Did you ever say anything to him?"
Harry shook his head vaguely. "I... that's what I've been trying to... I don't remember." He looked up and met Nick's eyes, confusion in his own. "Isn't that weird?"
Nick frowned. "That is pretty strange. It was a long time ago, though. And... this is going to sound like a dumb question, and I'm certainly not a doctor, but have you had any... I don't know, head injuries or anything?"
Harry stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Uh, you could say that. I'm a P.I.," he shrugged. "Sometimes I end up sticking my nose into things people would rather I didn't. I've gotten clobbered a few times." Or more than a few, he had to admit to himself.
"Sounds like a dangerous line of work," Nick said with a frown, getting his receipt and tucking it into his wallet. "Ready?" Harry nodded and stood, stepping past Nick to lead the way out. Nick put a hand briefly on the back of his shoulder. Harry turned to smile, Nick's hand sparking an unaccustomed warmth in his chest.
"It can be," Harry replied. "But the worst messes I've ever gotten into have had nothing to do with the job." He shrugged. "I guess I just sort of draw trouble."
Nick looked at him dubiously. Harry tried not to look sheepish.
***
"So what kind are you getting?" Harry asked, leaning up against the glass counter and peering down at the vats of ice cream.
"Mm, the cherries jubilee sounds good. Probably a cone. You?"
"Cookies and cream, I think. With the Oreo bits? That's one of my favorites." He completely missed the sidelong look Nick sent him as the guy behind the counter started scooping.
"Sounds good. And if I even see you thinking about reaching for your wallet, I'll have to do something drastic," Nick warned.
"Who, me?" Harry asked cheerfully. "Would I do something like that after you smacked me one over the check for dinner?"
"In a heartbeat, if you thought you could get away with it," Nick commented with a smile.
"Well, okay. You got me," Harry confessed, taking his cone.
"Oh, if only," Nick teased, waggling his eyebrows. Harry snorted.
"Don't think I'm that easy. Besides, a week from now and you'd be looking for the receipt," he joked absently, examining his ice cream for the best angle of attack.
"You keep making comments like that." Nick said thoughtfully. "Whoever you've been dating? I think you're better off without them." He nibbled a bit off the top of his own ice cream, carefully not looking at Harry, though he caught the moment of hesitation out of the corner of his eye.
"...maybe so," Harry said quietly, before attacking his cone again.
They walked for a while in companionable silence, trying to keep ahead of the melting ice cream. Harry missed the repeated glances Nick kept shooting him.
"Okay," Nick finally burst out. "There is no way you can be not doing that on purpose."
"Mmmf?" Harry asked, using his finger to catch a particularly adventurous drip and licking it off. He'd somehow managed to get a smear of ice cream on the end of his nose without apparently realizing it. Nick slumped.
"You are. I can't believe--" he laughed.
"What?" Harry asked blankly.
"I guess you really are used to dating only women," Nick said, shaking his head. "Think about what you were just doing to that ice cream cone, Harry." He could tell when Harry got it. His eyes went wide, and he flushed redder than he had when he'd come down the stairs earlier that evening.
"Uh, sorry..." he stuttered.
"No big deal," Nick said easily. "Just, have a little mercy, will you?" he pleaded playfully with a wink. Harry blushed even more deeply and examined his cone intently, with a vaguely perplexed expression, apparently trying to figure out how one ate an ice cream cone in a non-suggestive manner. Nick was tempted to clue him in on how difficult that would be with a mouth like his, but decided he'd embarrassed the poor guy enough for one evening. "Hey," he said, nudging Harry with his shoulder. "Don't let me put you off your ice cream. I can look away, you know."
Harry grinned and ducked his head in that way that Nick was coming to like entirely too much, and kept eating. Nick ostentatiously directed his gaze elsewhere, and heard Harry snicker. Pleased, he started to work on his own cone again. Even if this was the only date Harry ever had with a man, at least Nick had made sure he'd had fun.
***
"So, you want to come in?" Harry asked as they approached his door. "I don't exactly have a coffee pot, but I make a mean cup of instant."
"Oh, I want to," Nick answered. "But I'd probably better not, all things considered," he said with some regret. Harry nodded in understanding.
"You know, I think this is the best time I've had on a date in years," he said, leaning up against the wall by the window that had his name on it.
"Well, you do know what makes it a date, and not just a couple of friends hanging out, don't you?" Nick asked, bracing his hand on the window.
"You mean besides the flirting?" Harry asked, amused.
"Yup. I go out with friends I flirt with all the time. Doesn't make it a date." Nick smiled.
"So what makes it a date, then?" Harry asked, shifting his weight a little. It moved him a little bit closer. Nick seemed to take that as permission and leaned in, smiling.
It wasn't much of a kiss, really. Dry and close-mouthed, little more than a peck. But Nick's lips were warm and soft, and while it felt different than kissing a woman, it wasn't a bad different. He didn't have to bend down so far, for one. Nick smelled nice, and the tiny hint of stubble was actually kind of neat. Broken from his thoughts when Nick pulled away, Harry blinked a few times, and smiled. Nick smiled back, looking pleased. This time it was Harry that leaned in, closing his eyes.
***
Bob watched the movement of the shadows against the window with a tight frown. He really should have found a way to keep Harry home until they'd figured out what was going on. It just seemed so strange that Harry wasn't curious, wasn't questioning, especially such a drastic change in his typical behavior. Was something preventing him from thinking about it? Harry was capable of occasional bouts of massive denial, but this seemed a bit excessive. And now they were-- oh, really. Right out there in the street?
But he couldn't look away as their shadows separated, and then Harry leaned back in. It was a long moment before they parted again; it probably felt longer than it really was.
The bell jingled, and he stepped farther back into the shadows so as to be less visible from the door, in case Harry's 'date' was coming in as well. But Harry was closing the door behind him, and the other man's shadow was moving away outside. He opened his mouth to say something scathing, but the look on Harry's face gave him pause. He was a bit flushed, his hair slightly rumpled, and he was grinning that wide-open happy smile that Bob got to see so rarely. It took up his whole face, made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and told the entire world just how much he was loving life at the moment. As terrible as his own mood was, and as worried as he was for Harry... he couldn't quite bring himself to ruin it.
"Did everything go well?" he made himself ask. Harry twitched violently and spun to face him.
"Shit, Bob! Don't scare me like that," he yelped. He took a deep breath and shook his head. "Yeah, everything went fine. I had a better time than I think I've had on a date in the last ten years." He smiled a little, his eyes gleaming happily.
"Well, I'm... glad you had a good time." It wasn't even a lie. Working with Harry was infinitely easier when he was in a good mood. And now Harry was eyeing him with suspicion.
"That's a hell of a turnaround," he said cautiously. "A few hours ago I think you'd have locked me in if you could have."
"I still can't say I'm entirely sanguine about the situation," Bob admitted. "And if one of your clients came in speaking of a drastic change in behavior like this, you'd be the first to find it odd and investigate. But you're a grown man. I can't make you look into it."
Harry slumped onto the couch with a sigh, leaning his head back to rest against the cushions. "And I was having such a good evening," he said to no-one in particular. Bob felt a momentary pang of regret, but shooed it away. "All right, what have you found?"
"Well, whatever happened must have done so when you failed to remove the curse from that gaudy bit of jewelry in the lab," Bob began. "While you botched the circle--and you really do need to work on your calligraphy--unless you hideously overpowered the spell it shouldn't have had much of a physical effect on you at all, much less knocked you down. The answering machine was likely a lost cause either way really, but getting hit with a curse-removal shouldn't have knocked you for a loop." Bob noticed with relief that Harry was frowning thoughtfully. He'd finally managed to get his brain engaged. Now they could get to the bottom of this.
"That's true," Harry mused. "And I didn't put all that much power into it. You're always complaining that I use brute force where subtlety is called for," he noted with a wry smile, rolling his head along the back of the couch to look in Bob's direction, "So I thought I'd give your way a shot. Didn't work out so well."
"Hm, well if you'd formed the glyph for sealing the circle properly, it likely would have," Bob retorted. Harry snorted and made a 'you win' sort of gesture.
"I'll try it again in the morning, and you can look over my work first. I just... y'know." He shrugged. "Didn't want you in the room when I was trying to un-curse something. I wasn't sure what it'd do to you if I screwed up."
Bob blinked. The thought had never occurred to him. Now that Harry had mentioned it, it wasn't an unfounded concern. "While I do thank you for your consideration, we've moved rather off the point," he said, crossing his arms. "Which is your out-of-character behavior."
"Is it really that far out of character?" Harry asked, puzzled. "'Cause it doesn't feel like I'm acting all that different, except who I'm doing it with."
Bob had to stop and think on that for a moment. His immediate reaction was to say 'Yes, of course,' but was it true? "You've been a great deal more... cavalier about this than I might expect. Yesterday, you'd never have accepted a date with a man, nor kissed him on the doorstep. Yet today you seem to find it not only acceptable but commonplace."
"Wait, you were watching?" Harry interjected.
"I was waiting for you to come home," Bob said, rather stiffly. "I was concerned. You only met the man today, and there's every possibility that he could be involved in this. What do you know about him?" Harry smiled a little. Bob fought down a bristle by will alone.
"He teaches high-school English Lit, has two sisters older than him, his mother's still alive," Harry paused. "And his Name is Nicholas William Jerrin." He pronounced it very precisely.
"He gave you his Name?" Bob blinked in shock.
"Yeah." Harry sighed. "He had no idea what he was doing, and I think the only reason he was even able to is just because he's so precise when he talks. Probably because of the classes he teaches."
"Are you sure it was real?" Bob queried. Harry shot him a look. "Right, right. Sorry. Wait, you didn't give him yours, did you?"
"Do I look like an idiot? Don't answer that," he added when Bob began to speak. "But with that thrown in, you can bet he's probably not involved in whatever's going on. If he had more magic than your average cup of coffee, he'd have known better."
"True," Bob acknowledged reluctantly. "Then I suppose that leaves us back at square one, attempting to deduce the origins of your sudden 'noticing'," he cocked an eyebrow at Harry, who sheepishly nodded. "Thirty-six years of staunch heterosexuality aren't overthrown so easily."
"...you might be overstating the case a little, there." Harry said sheepishly. "I mean, every teenager has thoughts like those. They just kinda... went away."
Bob frowned. "Went away?"
Harry hauled himself to his feet and began to pace, chewing on one thumb. "Yeah, that's something that came up earlier when I was talking to Nick. Did I ever mention a kid named Steven, or Steve? I'd have been about fourteen or fifteen, maybe."
Bob bit his lower lip in thought. "No, the name doesn't sound familiar. Have you remembered something?" Harry shook his head, clearly frustrated.
"Almost. I remember that I had a friend named Steven, and... I must have spent time with him, and I think I had some kind of crush, but I can't quite make it fit together." His brow furrowed. "After a while he just wasn't around anymore, I guess. I don't remember a fight or anything, anyway. And then I started noticing girls, so it didn't really seem as important."
"Wait," Bob interjected. "And then you started noticing girls? After you weren't around this Steven much anymore?"
"Well, at all as far as I can tell. I mean, he kinda fades out around the same time, or me knowing him does. Something like that." From the look on Harry's face, he was rapidly giving himself a headache trying to remember. Bob's mind worked frantically. Harry's first male crush coming to an abrupt and vague end, only after which he found himself attracted to women. Harry completely lacking any detailed memories of that individual, when he'd trained Harry in mnemonic techniques himself. Wizards weren't over-prone to forgetfulness anyway.
"A moment, Harry. Let me see something..." Harry paused to look at him inquisitively, and Bob stepped close to slide his hand into Harry's chest. It confirmed his fears, now that he knew what to look for, and he stepped back.
"I... had begun to suspect as much," he said reluctantly. "There was indeed a difference, that I detected earlier. Not a new spell, though." He sorely wished he could reach out to Harry, lessen the impact a bit. "When your spell earlier backfired, it seems to have removed an older one."
"Wait, what?" Harry demanded. "A spell? What kind of... who would have...?" His mouth tensed and his eyes squeezed shut as though he were in pain. "Justin."
"It seems most likely," Bob said quietly. "He never mentioned it to me, but there were many things he chose not to share with a servant."
"But why?" Harry demanded, with all the hurt of a small child in his voice. Bob ached for him.
"I imagine he believed that such... proclivities... would have threatened his dynastic ambitions. He was rather invested in making sure you married well."
"So he sees me what, showing signs of a crush, maybe flirting a little at the most, and just decides to change it?" Harry shook his head, one hand scrubbing harshly at his face. "Just like that. I guess it's easy, when you don't give a damn." He spun and stalked a few steps away, his head hanging low while he breathed deeply, trying to maintain control.
"I wish there were something I could say, Harry," Bob said simply. It was true. At this moment he'd have given up a chance at freedom if he could just make Harry stop hurting.
"How much of it was real, Bob? Tara, Heather, Patricia, Bianca... how much of what I felt was real?" Harry's voice was quiet and hoarse. He sounded like he was fighting back tears.
"At the time? All of it." Bob answered gently. "No spell can take that away from you. Whether you would feel the same things without it, only time can tell."
"Christ," Harry muttered, running one hand through his hair. "I can't think about this right now," he said, unthinkingly echoing his words of that afternoon. Bob sought a distraction that would keep Harry around so Bob could keep an eye on him.
"Harry, you look like you're getting a headache," he said, trying to keep his voice unobtrusive. "We've still got a bit of the painkilling potion left, though you should probably make some more. There are a few other things we're also running a bit low on, if you're feeling up to it."
"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," Harry muttered, nodding absently. He stopped in the kitchen to grab the bottle of milk, then ducked into the lab. It was probably illustrative of his mood that he closed and barred the door behind him; he rarely bothered when he was alone. Swigging down the last of the headache draught, he grimaced and washed it down with a gulp of milk straight out of the jug. Bob bit back his reflexive comment. It wasn't like he had to worry about getting any milk from that bottle.
"I don't suppose you know any variants of this potion that don't taste like liquid chalk?" he groused.
"I'm afraid not," Bob said apologetically. "I don't think there are any medicinal potions out there that aren't nearly worse than what they're intended to cure. It's simply the nature of things."
Harry sighed and lit the flame of his tiny stove with a gesture, pouring a healthy amount of milk into a pot and setting it over the heat. While it warmed, he started assembling the rest of the ingredients. He'd made this one so many times he could probably do it in his sleep; he was pretty sure on one occasion that he had.
When that potion was finished and bottled, he moved on to a couple of different tracking potions, one to stop wounds from bleeding, one that boosted strength temporarily--though at a cost--and to push himself finished up with a type of disguise potion he hadn't tried before. Bob was with him, every step of the way. Even when he felt his eyes begin to droop closed.
"Harry? Harry!" Bob's insistent voice prodded him out of his half-doze. He shook his head and forced his eyes open to see Bob watching him with concern.
"I'm okay," he reassured Bob, rubbing his eyes. "Lemme just get this finished." He extinguished the flame and bottled the potion, the extra effort needed to keep his hands steady waking him up a little.
"Harry, you're exhausted. It's nearly dawn." Bob's voice, gentle and soothing, nudged him out of the lab and upstairs through the gray pre-dawn light to bed. Stripping to his boxers and t-shirt, he dragged the heavy comforter from the foot of the bed and curled up under it, pulling it over his head despite it being too warm for the weather. He really wanted something between him and the outside world right now.
"Sleep well, Harry," was the last thing he heard before sinking gratefully into oblivion.